


What Does He See in You?

by mackenziebutterschnapps (hannibalsbattlebot)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hate Sex, Oral Sex, PIV Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 20:54:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8072413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannibalsbattlebot/pseuds/mackenziebutterschnapps
Summary: The time Will spent with Molly as a family man is an intriguing puzzle for Hannibal Lecter. He decides to get answers from the person who had the most access to Will at that time. He's interested in what Molly Foster Graham can tell him--and what she can show him. (Un-beta-ed. Slightly rushed for deadline. Sorry about possible typos.)





	

 

“No. Absolutely not.” Will stabbed his finger down on the notepad next to the phone. “You will not call Molly for any reason.”

“I already have,” Hannibal said. “I invited her over this weekend. She accepted.”

“I—I can’t believe you would do something so reckless and…nonsensical!”

“If you feel strongly, its easy to undo.” Hannibal picked up Will’s phone and held it out to him. “Just call her and cancel.”

Will glared at the phone but didn’t touch it. “I won’t be party to this.”

“Suit yourself,” Hannibal said, putting the phone down, his expression flitting between smug and amused.

Will turned away and left the room muttering under his breath. He quickly packed a bag, grabbed his fishing gear and declared that he felt the sudden need to commune with nature. He packed and ready to go within the hour, promising he wouldn’t be back until sometime Monday when the coast was clear.

“So if you want to kill all the cops Molly will almost surely bring with her, you’ll have to do it without me.” Will paused in the doorway and settled his bag in his hand, grip tightening. “I don’t what you have planned but, don’t hurt Molly.” he said. Will remembered his violent visions of Molly, bloody with her eyes and mouth covered in mirrors.  

“We are just going to talk. We have some questions for each other. Some curiosities we both hold. She promised no cops, and I promised no sharp objects.”

“You’ll keep your hands to yourself?”

Hannibal smiled. “Of course.”

 

Hannibal spent the following morning setting the stage. After he was done fussing, Will’s belongings were still visible here and there, but Hannibal made sure they were neat, which, he thought, implied more of a formal relationship. Will wasn’t messy, but he didn’t think twice about throwing a jacket over the back of a chair and leaving it there for days. In preparation for Molly’s visit, Hannibal found such a jacket, shook it out and hung it up in the coat closet between his own and the empty hanger he left for Molly’s coat.

He wanted it to be perfect.  There would only be this one meeting in this rental cabin that he and Will would soon be moving from. Molly would ask what she wanted to, he would ask what he wanted to, and they would not try to contact each other again.

Hannibal nudged an architectural magazine on the coffee table back and forth, millimeter by millimeter, never really satisfied by the angle it made on the glass top. He was considering it, stepping back a pace with his arms crossed, when the doorbell rang.

Molly was much as he remembered her. As plain as her heavy blunt-cut bangs. Plain as the heather-gray tee-shirt with the slightly stretched out collar he could see peeking out the top of her oversized faire isle sweater. The sweater had to be Will’s. She might have kept it to relish his scent, but that was more something he, Hannibal, would do. More likely she wore it because it was comfortable and because it was at hand.

Hannibal welcomed her in and took her coat.

“You came alone,” he said.

She held her arms away from her body. “I’m also unarmed. You can pat me down if you have your doubts.”

“I trust you,” he said.

She was less plain when she spoke. Molly would never look appealing in still photographs. It was the animation in her face that brought the beauty into it.

“I can understand if you don’t want to dine with me,” Hannibal said. “but would you consider a glass of wine? If I open it in your presence?”

“Okay,” she said. “A glass of white and then we get down to brass tacks.”

Hannibal did as he promised, opening the bottle and filling the glasses in front of her. He stepped back, allowing Molly first choice.

Once they were settled at the small kitchen table, Molly spoke first.

 “Why did you invite me here?”

“Why did you come?”

She looked hard at him, to let him know she saw his evasion.

“I was curious,” she said. “I wanted to meet the bastard who tried to ruin my life.”

“Did I succeed?”

“For a while it looked that way,” she said, finally leaning back in the chair, looking at ease. “I was also more than a little curious about what my husband was up to. He’s not around, is he?”

“Unfortunately, no. He wasn’t feeling up to a reunion.”

“Good. At least he feels some shame.”

“I would like to talk more about your husband.”

“Of course you do,” she said bitterly. “Doesn’t that break doctor patient confidentiality?”

“We both know that is not the relationship Will and I have.”

“Why ask me anything about Will?” Molly asked. “Don’t you know him better than anyone else?”

Hannibal considered how to phrase this so it wouldn’t sound insulting _. I don’t know what he saw in you. What was the appeal? If I know that, that is one more thing I know about Will._

“I don’t know what he was like when we are separated,” he said finally. “I can’t. It’s a paradox.”

“Because once you show up, you are there. You can’t just observe.”

Hannibal nodded, sliding into the next thought. “I have a hard time imagining him living the life I know he lived while we were apart for those years—and I have a vivid imagination.”

“You can’t imagine him being a sweet, gentle man who was a great husband and father?” Molly asked. “That doesn’t take much imagination.”

“I know he has the capacity to be sweet and gentle, but…” _Where did he put everything else? Where was the darkness hiding this whole time?_ Hannibal could see that after they separated, Will was trying to be some version of his best self—what he thought of as his best self. Husband and father, quietly and peacefully fixing boat motors. Molly would have a better idea what he was really like in close quarters. She had seen the mask that Hannibal never had and never could. The mask’s purpose is to conceal, but what the artist chooses as camouflage says something about the artist. The best lies have a grain of truth.

 “I hate to disappoint you,” Molly said, “but there isn’t much to tell. He was a regular guy.”

“Will is no ordinary man. Surely you saw that.”

“He was a great man, but maybe not what you would consider great.”

“What was his demeanor?”

Molly shrugged, but Hannibal persisted.

“What did you do in your spare time? What did you enjoy doing together when you were alone?”

“Are you talking about sex?”

Hannibal hadn’t expected to conversation to get to this point so soon. He was wondering if they played board games or if they went fishing together, but this was an opportunity not to be missed, so he blinked once to gather his thoughts and said, “yes.”

Molly had finished her glass and pushed it across the table for a refill. “You called me into the middle of nowhere to ask me how Will fucks.”

“Among other things,” Hannibal said, filling her glass halfway. “I’d be lying if I said that didn’t interest me. A transparent lie, as we both know my interest in your husband extends to every part of him, including, yes, how he fucks.”

“Don’t you have first-hand knowledge by now?” Molly asked. “I’ll answer your questions, if you answer one of mine: have you fucked my husband?”

“We are physically intimate.”

“Does that physical intimacy include intercourse?”

“No,” he said simply, without a trace of embarrassment.

“Taking it slow? Or is it not even on the table, so to speak.”

Hannibal didn’t know the answer to that. He would accept their intimacy as it was forever. He could sustain himself forever just looking at Will. Holding his hand, kissing him, these things were pure bliss. But held up to the light by this woman, he saw it through her eyes and it looked shabby. She thought he was a fool, being cockteased.

Still. He wanted to know. Just to know. Even if—especially if—he was never going to experience it personally, he wanted any scraps he could get, even if was just to add another layer to his portrait of the man.

“Why should I give you…you! Intimate details about my sex life?” Molly continued.

“To torture me,” Hannibal said.

She frowned into her wineglass, looking at the dregs like they were tea leaves. “But you want me to torture you. You are asking for it and I don’t know if that counts.”

“If you knew me better, you would find that I will withstand any amount of pain to get what I want. Hearing details will cause me pain, since I may never experience these things for myself. Can’t we both get something we want?”

“What do I want?”  Molly asked.

“You want to know how much of the Will you knew was a lie. Was he just playing a part when he said I do?”

“I don’t doubt that he meant it. Maybe there was more to him than what I could see but there wasn’t less.”

“Very astute.”

“You sound like you are giving encouragement to a slow-witted elementary schooler.”

Hannibal paused and rested both forearms on the table, his hands loosely surrounding the stem of his wineglass.

“I’m sure Jack Crawford has given you a story to explain what happened to your husband. Knowing what I know of Jack Crawford, I am sure those stories are false. I’ll answer some of the questions you were asking yourself. Unlike Crawford, I have no interest in sugar-coating to spare your feelings. No, I did not kidnap Will after Francis Dolarhyde ambushed us. Yes, Will participated in the murder of Francis Dolarhyde. It was Will’s idea to plunge off the cliff, but I acceded to his desire to leave it in the hands of fate whether we escaped or died trying. From the moment we emerged from the police vehicle as escapees, Will’s choice to accompany me has been his own. He chose not to go back to you.”

He opened his hands slightly, palms open to give and receive. She saw the scars on both his wrists. “Now it’s your turn.”

 

She came here expecting a trap. But the truth is that he was right. They could both, in Will’s absence, get something they needed from him. They both needed insight that only the other could give.

And it would hurt Hannibal to hear. She would make sure of that.

“Will is passionate,” she said. “That shouldn’t surprise you. Romantic, sure, but just _raw_ sometimes. I would just be swept up in it.” She looked over, Hannibal had the same mildly interested look, but he was breathing shallowly. She had her audience in the palm of her hand. “He liked oral—maybe even giving more than receiving.”

She leaned forward again and put her hand on Hannibal’s forearm. Her voice was low and confiding. “Will knows how to eat pussy. He likes it. He’d make me come and instead of patting himself on the back for the good job, he’d only come up for air to ask if I wanted another orgasm. I got tired before he did. He’d have me begging to stop so he could be inside me already.” Molly let the image settle. “I never met a man who was so enthusiastic about eating pussy. Although…” she chuckled. “It sounds like something you would be into.”

“Would you like to find out?” he said. She laughed and waited for the slightest smile or angling of the head that would turn this from a proposition to a naughty wine-fueled joke. He was stone-faced and serious.

 “How long since you got laid?” she asked.

“Around four years. A mental hospital prison is the perfect place to practice celibacy.”

“Not like you had a choice.”

“You should read some of the love letters I received. Marriage proposals were the tamest.”

“And since prison?”

“I’ve been otherwise occupied.”

“So propositioning me was just bluster.”

“Not at all,” he said. “I would take you to bed right now.”

“Why?” she asked, eyes narrowed.

“Why not?”

Molly felt her heart lurch. She had made poor decisions concerning men, but this would best them all. Her first husband, Walter’s father, was abusive. Her second husband put her through emotional hell. That wasn’t even counting all the asshole boyfriends.

The truth was she was lonely.  She was the victim in this drama and got a lot of sympathy from all corners, but no man would touch her with a ten foot pole. She was broken beyond repair. Her emotional baggage screamed from every headline. People wanted her story, but they didn’t want her. Hannibal was possibly the only person in the world right now who didn’t pity her.

She was tired of playing the victim. Molly, the brave and noble victim. Molly the survivor. There was no room in the narrative for Molly the angry. Molly the vengeful. The seeds of her were there. Those coal-black flecks stirred and gathered the longer she was in Lecter’s presence, migrating to the surface like iron filings pulled by a strong magnet.

She wasn’t afraid of Hannibal Lecter and damn if she wasn’t curious.

One more bad decision wouldn’t kill her. Probably.

 “How long is Will supposed to be gone?” Molly asked.

“He’s fishing for the whole weekend.”

“Instead of telling you how Will fucks, why don’t I just show you?”

 

 “What do you like?” Hannibal asked Molly, his back to her, while he busied himself in the room. “Candlelight? Music?”

Hannibal looked over his shoulder to gauge her reaction and Molly saw his profile and the strong lines of his neck and shoulders. Everything else aside, she though, he was a good looking man. But that was a lot to try to forget about for a fuck.

He sat down next to her on the bed. The dim light made his eyes look deep and dark and warm, friendly and unthreatening. He put his hand over hers.

“You promise this will cause you pain?” she asked with a slight smile.

“Agonizing emotional torment,” he responded.  
She thought, what’s one more questionable decision, and leaned in to kiss him.

His lips were soft and he nipped at her gently, almost shyly. This was wrong. The music, the soft handling. She pulled away from him and stood.

 “Strip,” she said. When he got to his feet she added, “Not a strip tease, just strip. Take everything off.”

His hands stopped on the buttons of his shirt. “Everything all at once?”

She nodded. He removed each article of clothing, folding them as he went and setting them in a pile on a chair. Molly watched him, unimpressed. Just a man after all. No scales or claws or devil’s tail.

He stood in front of her, neither embarrassed nor excited.

Molly turned her back to him to undress. She took off her sweater and shirt together and tossed them on the floor on the far side of the bed. She unbuttoned her jeans, but another set of hands helped push them down her hips. Hannibal moved quickly and quietly. He unhooked her bra and then scooped his hands under it, cupping both of her breasts in his hands. She leaned back into him. She could tell he was aroused now. Her panties were plain shell-pink cotton, but his smooth hands glided over them and dipped in them fluidly, like they were made of silk.

Hannibal guided Molly down on the bed and she let herself be led. He kissed her lips and neck, her collarbones. She waited for the fear to set in. There must be a panic alarm that would tell her it was a Very Bad Idea to let a cannibal put his lips on her skin, to take her nipple in his mouth, to graze tongue and teeth down her belly to her inner thigh. But there was no panic, even when his tongue darted into her cleft and he commentated that he enjoyed her taste.

He could read her slightest tremble, the lowest breathiest sigh. He moved his mouth, lightly kissing her inner thighs and used his fingers alone to stroke her. The tension built again and he withdrew again. She groaned with pleased frustration and he smiled, also pleased.

Hannibal had been right: Molly’s beauty was in performance. He was enjoying watching her, feeling her push towards his fingers. She imagined this was what Will saw scores of times. He was gratified by this  completion of symmetry. He brought her close to orgasm again and stopped. He wasn’t sure what he was trying to prove. His own motivations were murky to him, as they often were when they came to Will.

He loved Will with his heart and, if he believed in a soul, with that too. He would gratefully take anything Will gave him. He delighted in finding new, creative ways to enjoy him, but it had been several years since he had been able to exercise his carnal arts. The aestheticism and purity of his love for Will had sustained him. He was almost monk-like in his ascetic devotion, but had been a time when he won hearts and minds with well-executed swordsmanship. His lovemaking was lush and indulgent. To reduce a partner to a quivering mess while he remained unmoved was a feeling he missed. Molly, dear sweet tee-shirt-and-sneakers Molly, stood no chance.

Hannibal raised himself over her. Molly felt his power, but not the menace. That he was keeping closely guarded. He wanted her to look at him and admire the view. She glanced briefly and then turned away. He straddled her, and when she didn’t reach out to touch his body, he took her hand and guided it down his stomach and used his fingers to wrap her hand around his cock. She squeezed him gently, and then moved her hand, as if she was memorizing it by touch. Where her fingers moved—shaft to head and back—she could feel him growing even harder under her touch. She cupped his balls and let one finger slide behind, to give the slightest grazing touch to the cleft that began there.  She gripped his cock again, guiding him towards her entrance while using her knees to grip him and control how fast he could sink into her. Slowly, so each of them could feel every inch of new connection where their flesh touched, he slide inside her until she enveloped him totally. Wrapped around him, surrounding him on every side with her core heat, she squeezed him again, felt the answering pulse.

 “Harder,” she said. He thrust into her roughly, but she rocked her hips towards him, taking the length of him easily. Their faces were close. They spoke in murmurs. “Does me talking ruin things for you?” she asked “Does it ruin the illusion?”

“I’m under no illusions,” Hannibal said. “This is about you. What does Molly want?”

“But everything revolves around Will, doesn’t it?,” she cooed. “That handsome head and the thoughts in it. Those kissable lips and the things they say. Tell me, Hannibal, does he still sigh in his sleep?” Hannibal breathed a genuine groan against her neck. She pulled him even closer. There was no escape for him. “Whenever he did that I l always wanted to hold him tight.” She let her hands slip down to the swell of Hannibal’s ass. “Maybe he lets you hold him while he’s half asleep, like I did. But then does he start moving against you, nudging his gentle way inside you? Finally opening his eyes to gaze into yours?”

Molly looked in his eyes. The gentleman who took her coat and offered her wine was gone. Hannibal’s eyes were glazed and yet clearer, like the glass-smooth surface of an undisturbed lake that lets you see down into the cold depths.

For the first time she felt something other than anger and resentment toward her husband. _Oh Will_ , she thought _, honey, I hope you know what you are doing._

Molly’s moved her hips just enough to give them each a slightly different sensation. He gasped and pulled out suddenly. She reached out to take her slick cock in her hands, but he moved his hips away from her. He went back down on her, more ardent and desperate, his finger inside her, thumb and tongue taking turns teasing her clit. She grabbed a fistful of sheet and moaned wordlessly as she came. She had barely felt the last wave of her orgasm and then he was back inside her, coming inside her with a shudder and a hard gasp. He collapsed on top of her, still breathing heavy, his face turned away. Molly thought he might have tears in his eyes, but she didn’t look because she didn’t want to know.

Her heart was pounding and she could feel Hannibal’s heart pounding with the same beat.

After she regained her composure and breath, she wriggled out from under Hannibal’s weight. “I should go.”

Hannibal sat up against the pillows and arranged the sheets around him, saying nothing.

 “What are you going to tell Will?” Molly asked. “If anything.”

 “With our relationship, it works better if we don’t ask too many questions. We might not like the answers we get in return.”

Molly thought that was fair. She wasn’t going to advocate for the fairness of truth when Will had kept so much from her.

“You forgot your sweater,” Hannibal said, leaning over to scoop it up from the floor.

“Keep it. It’s Will’s anyway” She said, tucking in her t-shirt.

Hannibal saw the appeal of her now. She was casual in her jeans and t-shirt, but Hannibal could see how Will could sink into Molly’s love like a warm pillow. All the softness surrounding him with a stable foundation underneath, enough of an edge to keep him from getting bored. She was nice counterpoint to Hannibal, buttoned up, complicated, his foundation actually the blade of a knife suspended over a pool of blood.

 “That sweater the last thing I have of his, actually, “Molly said. Looking through Hannibal’s dresser drawers, she found his pocket squares. She took the thinnest, most delicate one, twisted is and used it to tie back her hair. “You know, I thought it would be hard to get rid of all Will’s things after he left. But aside from his tools, there wasn’t much left. A trash bag’s worth of clothes and one small box of odds and ends. I should have known how temporary he was in our lives.”

“Molly, Will didn’t lie any more to you than he did to himself. He _tried_ , but he could only fight himself for so long. You are better rid of him.”

“He’s your problem now,” she said.

“Yes,” Hannibal said, and Molly saw how happy that made him.


End file.
